A mother’s body

Today when I got out of the shower, instead of trying to avoid the inevitable glimpse of my naked body in the mirror, I studied myself. I looked at my reflection straight on. I turned to the side. I have the body of a mother. My skin is soft and fair, the trait I carry over from my girlhood. My neck is long and elegant, my shoulders graceful but strong. My biceps are toned from years of picking up sturdy little boys and carrying 18 bags of groceries at a time. The hair on my arms is just peach fuzz, so blonde its almost white. My hands show my age, beginning to grow creases and turn dry from laundry and dishes. My breasts look swollen, slung low from pregnancy and nursing. The skin on my chest has been stretched so tight and thin that I can see the bright blue veins running underneath my skin, pumping thick, rich blood. My belly is round, soft like bread dough that has been stretched and pulled and kneaded. My babies lived here. The marks that run down my sides and into the space between my legs are okay with me. The fold of skin near the bottom of my abdomen cannot bother me. In return for these scars I was rewarded three times with new life, healthy and pure. My legs are strong, they have carried the weight of these pregnancies. They have climbed stairs, pushed strollers, squatted to allow the baby’s head to break through. I can’t keep hating the body that has served me well. It has never failed me. There is nothing I can regret.

2 Responses to “A mother’s body”

  1. 1 thordora November 5, 2006 at 3:48 pm

    I was wondering where this went.

    Well said.

  2. 2 Missy November 7, 2006 at 11:32 am

    Good writers borrow, great writers steal. (smile)

    Very nice.

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